Page 99 of Victorious

Noah looked up—eyes hidden, as usual, behind his sunglasses— and followed him into Control.

On the outside, EON may have looked the same. But within its squat white walls, it had been taken down to studs, both physical and existential, and then carefully redesigned, rebuilt. The cells replaced by rooms—the difference being doors that didn’t lock—because the tenants could be relied upon to stay within when they were told.

Gabriel scanned the screens, one for each of his current patients.

It was true, there weren’t as many of them now.

But each was such a fascinating case.

Rebecca, a mother who unraveled anything she touched. Including her family.

Blake, a former stockbroker who could alter gravity.

Aline, whose vision could penetrate any surface.

Of course, not every conversion was so markedly successful.

Take Dominic, who, despite the fact he’d been resurrected months ago, had shown no signs of waking up. Some delay was normal—the longer they were dead, the longer it often took for them to wake—but this was different. Smoke-like shadows curled around his body, and when Gabriel, or anyone—had tried to touch him since, their hands had found only smoke, not skin, and gone straight through.

Meanwhile, Xavier had offered minimal resistance in the end, but his glitch had rendered his power and his mind both obsolete. His previous ability to rewind his victim’s memories had turned back on himself, so that his own now faded almost as quickly as he formed them.

The other young patient, Charlotte, still saw deaths in reflective surfaces, but they no longer lined up with the people near the mirrors. She took constant notes, trying to piece together what she saw with who she saw it for, trying to make order out of chaos, sense out of suffering.

But setbacks were to be expected.

Therapy was a journey, not a destination.

And with each success, Gabriel gained not only satisfaction, and a useful subject, but even sometimes an asset, someone whose power helped protect the program, even recruit new patients.

Take Malcolm, whose talent for technology was nearly limitless.

The bald man sat before the wall of screens, his hands resting on bare circuitry, his eyes unblinking behind his glasses as his mind spread through the mainframe. Part of his mind trawled the internet for signs of potential EOs, cross-referencing and compiling a target list, while simultaneously scrubbing any public mention. The other half secured EON itself, both its physical and its digital security.

Gabriel was grateful for his contribution.

Malcolm’s only glitch was that he could no longer disconnect, no longer act or speak outside the system. He was plugged in, IVs running into his body as cables ran into the computer bank.

As Gabriel approached, Malcolm didn’t move, or blink, but words appeared in the corner of the lower left screen:

GOOD MORNING, DR. GRAY.

“How are you feeling?” asked Gabriel, resting a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.

EFFICIENT.

Gabriel smiled. “Good. Any updates?”

THREE NEW CANDIDATES DISPLAY SUFFICIENT MARKERS.

As Malcolm typed, several screens shifted to show their last known locations on the map.

“Helena,” instructed Gabriel, “please dispatch the closest agents to investigate.”

As she tapped out instructions on her tablet, he turned his attention to another corner of the grid. “What about Sublevel One?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the faintest crease in Noah’s brow. Gabriel knew the agent disapproved of his decision to include the EOs from the morgue.

Not for their sake, but for his.